


so we are

by shunchan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Existentialism, Other, Philosophy, Psychology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 03:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shunchan/pseuds/shunchan
Summary: The space exists. And so does Vix. Sometimes objects appear, and other times they do not.This is my own multi-chaptered story about an odd looking businessman named Vix who exists within empty space wherein strange occurrences are common. Some include, the appearance of his table, bed, and rarely, other people. He explores philosophical questions in an attempt to make sense of his surroundings. Often times he is not quite sure what the purpose of these struggles are, and yetc:





	so we are

**Author's Note:**

> hello, i'm shun. i'm the creator of this story, and i'd just like to toss it out there that this is in no way a statement for anything. enjoy.
> 
> (ps it's also unedited. i apologize, everything will be fixed later when i am not tired)

## home

Refreshing as the freshest forest or sterile as the cleanest hospital room. It was both and neither. Black and white, but almost always grey. To call it a room would be a lie. Rooms required corners, edges and an end. Did this have an end? That’s a notion left to be explored. Lies could make it more like a room. If he called it a room, then there would be an exterior and structure. As amusing as that would be, what benefit would it bring?

_Clink Clink_

Surely there must be some discernible name for his home. People had homes, and they were homes because of the labels, right? If there were not objects within the home that held significance to the user then they would not care for the home? Is that not the truth? 

_Clink Clink_

However, if it were to be a room and if it were to be a lie, could that make it a home? Then, there would be emotional significance within the home. Yes, this is a home if that is the case.

_Clink **Clunk**_

The clunking stopped abruptly, every moment afterward seemingly drawing out the next in an unrelenting silence. If not for the clinking before, it would’ve been a moment unlike usual. But of course, today was not ordinary for him. Today, the peculiar question of where he was needed to be answered. If time wasn’t going to give it to him, he’d have to find it himself. A polished shoe poised on the rustic wood of the bed frame, still after its incessant clacking. It twitched, followed by a creaking sigh from within the cot. He relished in the small sound as he rose, as always the bed’s comments complimented the rare noises within the ‘room’. It, as well as he and the white space all around were here. Here in a place where noise was a sensation unlike any other. It could reverberate. Send shivers down his spine. It could hurt, sometimes when his ears failed him. And sometimes, it could speak. This was something he knew, but had never experienced. A sound of communication. It would be brilliant to hear such a noise that had once only lived in his head. Alas! That is not today’s goal. Today this is a room.  
With an elegant swing of his right leg, he stepped away from the solitary furniture focusing only on the whiteness ahead. His body felt heavy, as it always does when leaving the bed. The tension under the well-tailored suit a burden he never could shake. It was distracting, but today he wouldn’t return to the bed. Now where are the edges? Silence resumed as he allowed it, coming to a stop a few meters from the start. A deep breath entered his lungs as he scanned the same familiar background, allowing his intense gaze to picture what could be in his room.  
For example, if he pictured a corner to his bottom right, then there could be a table there. If he thought about the prospect of the table, it would come. The bed had. Everything had. Suddenly he concentrated, taking minimal breaths to direct more energy to the process. Yes there it is. The outline of the table was there. It’s spindly leg carved with ornate designs, ending in stone feet. Minuscule as it was, it did match the bed. But it was not enough. Yellow eyes narrowed as breathing became labored. Though the process took pain, it was worth it for the few moments of furniture. They always were nice friends for the bed, even if their disappearance was more painful than necessary. His nostrils flared as, finally, a table about half his height sat there in what would now be the corner. The breath escaped his lungs through his nose in rapid succession as he lifted a single hand up to his face, smoothing the skin between his nose and chin in thought, its flat surface comforting to his fingertips. He approached the piece without hesitation, giving its own corner a thoughtful pat.  
It has corners and now, so does my room. He thought, bemused as he ducked to peer underneath it and at the white space around it. All might be white, but he could’ve sworn there was a shadow. A corner it must be. His forehead was then upon the rough wood, his harsh gaze fond. There was no need to worry about home. This had significance. Yes. 

Home. 

**Author's Note:**

> new table friend. 
> 
> thank you for reading !  
> feel free to leave comments and questions, they are appreciated


End file.
